


Darkness Within

by suilven



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Psychological Horror, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suilven/pseuds/suilven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no road to Aeonar, just a ribbon of dust barely visible in the grass, as Lily faces the consequences of Jowan's betrayal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Within

**Darkness Within**

There is no road to Aeonar.

Since veering off the main roads a few days ago, they've been following a thin trail that weaves through the scrubland; a ribbon of dust barely visible in the parched brown grass. She keeps her head bowed as the sun beats down on her hair. Her mouth is dry with thirst, but she doesn't speak. This all hardly seems real, even though she could easily reach out and touch one of the two templars walking alongside her. They aren't even paying attention to her—why would they? She has no magic, she's no warrior… even they can tell she's already broken.

The fort is an oppressive mass of stone on the horizon, draining the color from the sky. She forgets to breathe, for a moment, as each weary step makes the walls loom taller. She pretends not to see the scatter of bones that lie half-buried in the dirt: delicate shards like bits of broken pottery; thick bones that exude strength, pitted with gouges; a skull, the top split open like an eggshell, with empty sockets that gape blankly at them through the swirls of dust.

The sky seems to dim as they pass through the walls and into the inner keep. They leave her here, her templars, and the one with the sad eyes spares a look back before the gates close behind them. A new templar leads her inside; his voice sounds strange and raspy from lack of use. He orders her to strip and she's surprised at how she just  _does_  it without thought; methodically removing each piece of her old life and folding it carefully on the bench beside her. The templar looks old and worn like the stone, like this entire place; as though his skin and hair were kissed with ash. He doesn't leer, merely hands her a simple linen shift to put on. It feels strange to think that the last time she stood like this—naked and vulnerable—was with Jowan. The memory pulls at threads best left buried, threatening to unravel her, so she tugs the cloth over her head as he beckons her forward.

She should be curious about her surroundings, but she's not. They climb the stairs that lead into the bowels of the fort, the stone beneath her feet growing colder. There is a strange hush that hangs in the air, like a lull that never resolves back into the comforting murmur of everyday sounds. There is only the scrape of her feet on the stairs, the dull clank of the templar's armor, and a foreboding sense of emptiness. Up, they climb, ever upwards—the keep hadn't looked that tall from the outside—passing floor after floor of long corridors that branch off from the staircase. Each corridor is lined with doors, all closed; their occupants silent and still.

When the stairs end, the templar leads her down the top-most hallway to the one door that stands open. He gestures her inside without blinking and then the door is shut behind her. The bolt slides into place with a click before his footsteps recede into the distance.

The room is nicer—cleaner—than she had expected. Her visions of Aeonar had always been of dungeons; of damp, rank cells overrun with rats. This… almost seems comfortable. There is a straw pallet in the corner; a small table with a single chair; even a window, lined with bars, of course. She stands there for a time before lying down on the pallet. It feels like it's been forever since she last slept and the weight of her fatigue pulls her down into slumber.

oOoOo

It is dark when she wakes; more than dark. A well of blackness has swallowed her whole and she lies utterly still, tense and waiting. She can feel the silence around her like the heaving sides of some sort of humongous beast as her heart thuds painfully in her chest. She tries to swallow, but her throat is tight and dry. The darkness itself presses her down and she is afraid to move, somehow sure it can sense her fear. Her breathing is coming faster in frightened gasps. The Veil is thin here—she's heard all the rumors. She can't help but remember the stories that were whispered in the chantry dormitories and they all rush back now, gnawing away at any hope she had of calming herself.

She remembers the window. There is a window. She saw it. Surely, there must be some sliver of moonlight outside. Her fear has become wild, a sort of mad panic, as she bolts from the pallet to outer wall. The window is there—she grasps the bars in her hands—but the landscape below is an impenetrable murk. The sky is shrouded with thick mist; the ground below, merely haze.

No escape. There is no escape. She turns, pressing her back against the window, somehow justifying to herself that what is outside must be safer than what is inside. She whimpers, wanting the dark to go away, but it clings to her. The moment stretches on as she waits for the tension to break, waits for some horror to make itself known before it devours her… but, there is nothing. She slides down the wall, curling in on herself as she wraps her arms around her knees and weeps.

oOoOo

She doesn't remember falling asleep but, when she opens her eyes, there is light once more. It is hard to move at first as her muscles are still knotted and aching. A tray of food and water has been slid through the small opening at the bottom of the door and she moves towards it woodenly; the events of the night have seeped into her thoughts. She forces herself to eat. The food is, like the room, surprisingly good—a reasonably hearty stew and a crust of thick bread—although she doesn't really taste it. She pushes the tray back through when she's finished and uses the bucket they've provided to relieve herself in.

The day wears on in oppressive silence. She pulls her chair close to the window and sits, resting her head against the bars. There is nothing to see—the same blur above and below—and she realizes that this place must all be warded in some fashion. Still, she feels safer here, next to the light.

As the shadows lengthen, her body begins to tense. She can't bring herself to lie down so, instead, she drags the pallet to rest under the window. With her back pressed against the wall, she sits and waits for night to fall.

oOoOo

It is the same as the last.

She rocks back and forth, willing the time to pass. She should pray, but the words of the Chant have been consumed by the vacuum of this place and nothing comes out.

oOoOo

Another day.

Another night.

The days pass too quickly; the nights stretch out impossibly long before her. She's already lost track of how long she's been here. Her shift is a dingy grey now, like the skin of the templar who brought her here and locked her in. She catches herself drifting—she's so very tired.

oOoOo

Tonight is different. She hears screaming. As awful as the sound is, there is a strange comfort in knowing that she's not alone. It's only when the sound doesn't stop that she realizes that it's her.

oOoOo

She can't stomach the food any more, and slides her tray back uneaten. It's an effort to remember why she's here; her head feels thick and heavy, almost like it's made of stone.

"Lily?"

The voice jolts her out of her thoughts, sparking a memory. She lifts her head as a man strides towards her, kneeling down beside the pallet. His eyes are soft and warm, overflowing with kindness and concern, and it takes her a moment to realize she isn't dreaming. He's staring at her, as if he's afraid to move. "Lily," he whispers, "it's me."

"Jowan?" She's amazed that she can still speak, even though it doesn't sound like her voice.

He nods. "I've come to take you away from this place."

He looks familiar, yet not quite like she remembers. She hugs her knees tightly to her chest, wishing that his words made more sense. "There is nothing but this place."

Jowan looks sad now. "I promise there is. I can set you free, if you trust me."

She can't help the giggle that escapes. She remembers trusting him once. "I don't believe you."

"It's different now. I've changed." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Besides, you can't tell me you want to stay here. Come with me."

She studies his face for a long moment. "How?"

"I don't understand…"

"How? How did you get here? How did you get in? How are we going to leave?" She stands slowly, one hand braced on the wall for balance.

"I couldn't live, knowing you were trapped here because of what I did. I'm so sorry, Lily." He reaches out and touches her; cold fingers trailing across her cheek. "I promise, I'll explain everything later. Right now, we need to go, before it's too late."

"Before the darkness comes?" She can't help the way she shivers, the way her body betrays her fear.

He nods vigorously. "Come with me."

"What do I have to do?"

"I can cast a spell that will protect you. When we walk out of here, the templars won't see you." He leans forward, almost eagerly. "You just have to give me permission to use the spell."

She pauses and thinks before answering. "Go ahead."

He touches her cheek once more. "You just have to say that you'll let me in; otherwise, it won't work."

This is Jowan. The man she loved—no, loves—and he's here, really here. There is something she should remember, but it flits away before she can focus on it. No more darkness. She almost whimpers. "You can come in."

His head dips down and his lips brush across hers. "Thank you."


End file.
